Alice-Miranda at Sea (19 page)

S
loane Sykes arrived home from school to find her mother standing at the kitchen sink drumming her red talons on the granite benchtop like a slow march, over and over again.

‘Hello Mummy.' Sloane threw her backpack into the corner. ‘I need a drink.'

When her mother didn't move, Sloane opened the fridge and took out a two-litre bottle of diet cola. She proceeded to pour herself an enormous glass, then sat down at the bench to consume it. Her mother hadn't turned around at all and seemed rather lost in her thoughts.

Sloane was preoccupied too. Her day had begun with a slew of taunts from Lola, a brunette beauty who had the whole school wrapped around her manicured pinkie nail, and had ended the same way. For whatever reason, the girl and her posse of friends had taken an intense dislike to Sloane and whenever they saw her they called her names – in Spanish of course, which she didn't understand but knew from the howls of laughter that accompanied them must have been unkind at the very least. Sloane had yet to make a friend and frequently found herself thinking about Alice-Miranda and Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale Academy for Proper Young Ladies. Maybe it hadn't been so bad there after all.

‘Sloane,' said her mother, finally spinning around to face her. ‘When were you going to tell me about this?' She held aloft what appeared to be a letter.

‘What is it?' Sloane looked up from her half-empty glass. A gnawing feeling in her stomach told her exactly what it was but she didn't want her mother to know she had been expecting it.

‘And these?' September Sykes produced a small bundle of letters from under her latest edition of
Gloss and Goss
.

‘Where did you get those? Have you been snooping in my room?' Sloane demanded.

‘Have you been writing to her? That little monster who ruined all of Mummy's plans?' September stamped her foot on the tiled floor like a tantrum-throwing flamenco dancer.

‘No, Mummy, I have not been writing to her,' Sloane replied. ‘But what if I had? It's none of your business.'

‘None of my business?' September marched over to where Sloane was sitting and hovered above her on the other side of the island bench. ‘If it wasn't for Alice-Miranda or whatever her stupid name is, we'd be living the high life now.'

‘And what do you call this, Mummy?' Sloane glanced around the villa with its state-of-the-art kitchen, swimming pool and home theatre. ‘I wouldn't exactly say that you're living rough.'

‘How dare you, Sloane Sykes?' September trembled like a giant butterscotch soufflé. ‘Your father's so busy I hardly ever get to see him and it's not that easy making friends here when they don't even speak English.'

‘They don't speak English, or you don't speak Spanish. Don't talk to me about it being tough, Mother. Try going to school every day with the lovely Lola. She hates me and I don't even know why,' Sloane spat. ‘And you can give me my mail, thanks very much.' Sloane snatched the letters from her mother's hand and raced off to the safety of the front porch.

‘Urgh,' September pouted. ‘Life still isn't fair!'

Sloane sat down on the top step. A giant skink poked his head out from under a terracotta pot beside her, and then retreated upon spying the giant intruder.

‘Don't leave,' Sloane begged the frightened creature. ‘If you stay
she
won't come out here.' She glanced over her shoulder towards the front door. Sloane placed the bundle of letters she had already read beside her. This new envelope wasn't the same as the other ones. There was no embossed AMHSKJ. This envelope was stark white, expensive-looking just the same, but bore the name ‘
Octavia
' in raised print on the back flap. Sloane wondered what it meant.

Dear Sloane,

I hope this letter finds you well and enjoying school. I know that the holidays are a little different for you so I suspect that you're still in term. As you know we're away for Aunt Charlotte's wedding. It's going to be lovely, I'm sure, but I'm writing to you because something has happened and I need your assistance. I wouldn't ask except that this is very important and a young boy's wellbeing depends on your help. It's not life and death but I do know that his parents will be very worried and really there's no need because he's safe and sound with us. I can't say exactly where we are because we had to promise not to tell anyone. If you look inside the envelope you'll see that there's another letter addressed to Mr and Mrs L Nordstrom. I believe that they live quite close to you – just down the road, in fact. Their son, Neville, has got into a bit of a tight spot and if you could just deliver the letter and tell them that what's in it is the absolute truth, I would be most appreciative – as would my new friend, Neville. He's a delightful fellow, but quite the most nervous boy I've ever met. I know that with your help we can have all of this sorted and then Neville will be home again by the weekend. Please, Sloane, I'm relying on you. This is what I need you to do . . .

Sloane read the letter twice. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. Alice-Miranda was asking for her help. Her first instinct was to throw the whole lot in the bin. But there was something stopping her. Sloane didn't like being hated. She wondered what it would feel like to help someone else, for no reason other than they had asked. Really, there was nothing in it for her, and yet she thought, how hard would it be to go and pay these people a visit, give them the letter, and tell them what Alice-Miranda said.

The skink poked its head out again from under the pot.

‘What do you think?' Sloane addressed her reptilian companion. ‘Should I do it?'

The skink took another step into the sunlight. Sloane looked at him, with his giant eyes and funny earless head. And then the creature moved its head up and down. ‘Oh, really,' Sloane chuckled. ‘So you think I should go, do you?' The skink scuttled off back to its hiding spot. ‘All right then, I will.'

She stood up and walked back inside to where her mother had retreated to the family room off the kitchen and was now watching her favourite game show,
Winners Are Grinners
.

‘Sloane, is that you?' September said sulkily.

Sloane approached her mother slowly. ‘Mummy, I'm going to visit a friend.'

‘Good, I'm glad you've made some friends.' Her mother didn't look up from the television where the contestant was being asked, ‘What's the name of Queen Georgiana's royal yacht?' The program was dubbed in Spanish and had subtitles in English. ‘This is so stupid,' September griped. ‘I don't see why they couldn't just leave it in English and have the subtitles in Spanish. It takes a lot of effort to keep up with reading all those lines.'

Sloane glanced at the television set as three options were given for the correct answer.

a.
Ondine

b.
Octavia

c.
Oriana

Sloane's mind went into overdrive. She turned the envelope over in her hand.

‘That's it. That's where they are,' she whispered.

‘Who? Who's where?' her mother snapped.

‘No one, Mummy.' Sloane smiled to herself. And with that she raced off out the front door.

A
t exactly five minutes to seven, Jacinta and Millie met Sep and Lucas at the entrance to the ballroom. Last night's subcontinental sounds had been replaced by the smooth jazz tones of Mr Morrison's big band. Alice-Miranda had gone downstairs to escort Neville. Upon returning to her suite earlier in the afternoon she'd had a quiet word with Mr Winterstone, who, it seemed, could arrange many things. When Alice-Miranda knocked at the door of the Albert Suite, Neville greeted her looking resplendent in his black suit, white shirt and bow tie.

‘Very handsome, Neville,' exclaimed Alice-Miranda, smiling at her new friend.

‘Th-th-thank you,' the boy replied as they walked upstairs. Alice-Miranda looped her arm through Neville's and, for a moment, he thought he might faint. They arrived at the ballroom at seven on the dot.

Alice-Miranda was surprised to see the room almost empty apart from Lord Robert, Lady Sarah and their girls, Millie's parents, Granny Bert, Daisy, the Greenings, Max and Cyril.

She spied Dr Lush talking to his brother over by the band and promptly left Neville with Millie and took herself off to say hello. Alexander and Nicholas were rather more friendly towards Alice-Miranda that evening. Alex kept his earphones out for the entire conversation and Nicholas even smiled, although he did cast a dubious look at Neville.

Aunty Gee had begun to wonder too. She was waiting in the drawing room for word that everyone had arrived before making her official entrance. She was sure the invitation had said 7 pm and it was now almost half-past.

When Alice-Miranda returned to her friends, they found their table and sat down to have some lemonade. Mr Winterstone was a man of many talents and had also arranged an extra place for Neville.

Enormous silver candelabra adorned each of the tables. There were floral displays in autumn hues of orange and red positioned on plinths around the glittering room.

When finally the guests began to arrive in earnest, Jacinta and Millie couldn't help but stare at the kaleidoscope of gowns and impeccably groomed ladies who wore them.

Alice-Miranda scanned the room. Her mother and father had arrived. Cecelia was wearing a stunning navy gown and her father looked terribly handsome in his dinner suit.

Cecelia saw the children pointing at her and hurried towards their table.

‘Hello Mummy, you look beautiful.' Alice-Miranda leapt from her seat to give her mother a kiss.

‘Oh, darling, there you are. Are you all right? Is everyone all right?' Cecelia's lips were drawn together in a tight line.

‘Of course, Mummy. We're fine, aren't we?' Alice-Miranda asked her friends.

‘Yes . . . lovely, thank you . . . great,' the group replied.

Her father looked as though he was far, far away.

Alice-Miranda pulled at his sleeve. ‘Are you okay, Daddy?'

‘What's that, darling?' Hugh looked down at his only child.

‘Are you okay?' she repeated.

‘Yes, of course,' he replied.

But Alice-Miranda wasn't convinced. Most of the adults were acting very strangely, as though they were all chewing over a particularly tricky long- division sum and had no idea of the answer.

On the other side of the room, Dalton poked his head around the corner of the doorway and whispered to Aunty Gee, ‘Ma'am, I think we're ready.'

A hail of trumpets announced the arrival of Queen Georgiana. Her buttercup-yellow gown fell softly from her hips into folds of organza while the bodice was beaded in crystals. Around her neck, a diamond-encrusted choker with sapphires glinted in the soft light and a matching sapphire tiara adorned her perfectly coiffed hair.

‘Doesn't your Aunty Gee look grand?' Jacinta leaned over and whispered to Alice-Miranda. ‘Those jewels are something else.'

And right then Alice-Miranda worked out exactly what the matter was.

Queen Georgiana reached the head table and addressed the subdued crowd.

‘Good evening everyone and I must say that you are all looking rather splendid. Charlotte and her handsome prince Lawrence have arranged this party in my honour and I would like to thank them. It is a pleasure to be hosting their wedding tomorrow.

‘May I propose a toast to Charlotte and Lawrence.' The Queen raised her glass.

‘Charlotte and Lawrence,' reverberated around the room.

Alice-Miranda's eyes scanned the guests. Apart from Aunty Gee, none of the ladies were wearing any jewels. It was like a silent conspiracy.

‘Have you seen your mother?' Millie whispered to Jacinta.

‘No,' she replied.

Just as Jacinta spoke, the ballroom doors burst open. There, in a fire engine-red gown, her face streaked with tears, stood Ambrosia Headlington-Bear.

‘I've been robbed!' she cried. ‘My jewels. They're all gone!'

The woman was near hysterical. Dalton moved swiftly to shut the doors and take the screaming woman a medicinal brandy.

Around the room, guests were glancing at one another and then reaching into their pockets and purses, fingering the notes that had replaced the jewellery in their suite safes.

Admiral Harding stood up to address the crowd. His voice trembled as he spoke. ‘Mrs Headlington-Bear, I'm afraid you have put us all in grave danger with that outburst. I suspect that we have all received the same note.' He pulled the paper from his pocket. ‘And furthermore I suspect that you didn't bother to read yours.'

White notes appeared all over the ballroom. Aunty Gee furrowed her brow. She couldn't understand why no one had informed her of what was going on. She held her hand out towards the admiral who passed her the note. At once her expression changed. ‘A bomb on board the ship? Really?'

‘I'm not sure who is responsible for this, but I can tell you that, once caught, they will feel the full force of the law,' the admiral assured his guests.

‘But what about the kidnappers?' Lady Sarah shouted.

‘What kidnappers?' asked Cecelia, puzzled. ‘My note says that if I tell anyone, Alice-Miranda will be thrown overboard to the sharks.'

‘Well, this one says that they'll set fire to the ship,' Cousin Harriet said.

‘And this one says that they'll kill my darling Peppy,' an elderly woman with purple hair called out.

‘Who's Peppy?' Lawrence asked.

‘My baby.' The woman began to blubber loudly.

Lawrence gave her a quizzical look.

‘My West Highland Terrier, man,' the woman snapped.

‘Well.' Queen Georgiana stood up. ‘It sounds to me as if we're all being taken for a ride. I don't think whoever is responsible for this could possibly undertake
all
of the dastardly deeds you've just catalogued. ‘So –' she looked at Dalton – ‘do you have any ideas?'

Admiral Harding spoke up. ‘I need you all to calm down. Please sit.' A momentary hush descended over the room.

‘It must be the same gang that has been stealing all the Russian jewels,' an elderly gentleman called from the far corner.

‘My sapphire was worn by Catherine the Great,' Ambrosia snivelled.

‘That new chef's Russian. Strange coincidence that your Mr Rodgers was taken out by a hit- and-run just before this bloke turned up,' Ambrose McLoughlin-McTavish pondered loudly.

‘What about you, Lushkov?' Harry Morrison, the band leader, pointed at the wild-haired saxophonist. ‘You've been acting very strangely since we came on board.'

The room erupted as accusations pinged from wall to wall like bullets.

Alice-Miranda beckoned to her friends to lean in close.

‘They're all wrong. Chef Vladimir isn't a thief. And we know it's not Mr Alex or Dr Lush. Come on, let's get out of here,' she instructed her friends. ‘We need to go somewhere quiet and think this through properly.'

With the commotion raging around them, the children hurried from the ballroom.

‘The library,' Lucas instructed as they scurried upstairs.

The children entered what had become their own private sanctuary and Sep quickly locked the door. Neville was paler than uncooked pastry and Jacinta was furious about her mother's outburst.

‘They're all jumping to conclusions,' Alice-Miranda soothed. ‘We need to think about the facts. Whoever's behind all this has stolen a large amount of jewellery so I don't think they're working alone.'

‘Who had a key to my room?' Neville asked.

‘Who had a key to
all
the rooms?' Millie added.

‘Admiral Harding,' Jacinta offered.

‘Jacinta!' the group sighed.

‘Well, I was just saying.'

‘Are you sure it's not Dr Lush?' Millie asked. ‘I mean, after everything with that case.'

‘What case?' Sep asked.

Millie hurriedly blurted the entire tale of Neville and his case and the doctor's identical one.

‘Sorry, Neville,' she apologised. ‘They were going to find out sooner or later.'

Neville shrugged his shoulders. ‘It's okay.'

‘So you're a stowaway?' Jacinta gasped. ‘Oh, that's so romantic.'

The children chortled with laughter.

Alice-Miranda was thinking out loud. ‘If they are after jewels, then surely they won't leave the ship without the Fabergé eggs in the drawing room. It's just next door. I mean, they're probably more valuable than all of the other gems put together. And who would have had access to all the rooms on the ship? I mean, your man Henderson, we know that he could get into your room, Neville, so he could well have taken that laundry bag, but it's likely someone more senior. Everyone seems so lovely and kind. I can't imagine who it might be . . .'

A key jiggled in the lock and the library door swung open. The children leapt into the air.

‘Quiet, it's just me.' Dr Lush commanded as he walked into the room. ‘I thought you might be here.'

Alice-Miranda spoke first. ‘Hello Dr Lush. Do you know what's going on?'

‘It's chaos and well, no, not really. But I had to get out of that ballroom. You should have heard them all, arguing worse than children.'

‘I think someone should go and see if the eggs are still in the cabinet next door,' Alice-Miranda suggested.

Lucas and Sep offered immediately.

‘But what if you catch them in the act? Then what will you do?' Jacinta asked.

Her face crumpled and she started to cry. ‘I can't believe this sort of thing is happening again.'

‘Again?' Sep and Neville looked at each other.

‘Jacinta, don't be silly.' Alice-Miranda shot her a steely look.

‘I'll come with you,' Dr Lush volunteered. ‘I used to be in the Russian navy and I think I could still put up a half-decent fight.'

‘Wait, there was one thing,' Alice-Miranda called. ‘All those notes, they looked as if they were written on the exact same size squares of paper. Not notepaper and not quite letter-size. I saw one of the crew cutting up some paper when I was on the bridge the day we arrived. Then I saw him again yesterday in the corridor with a clipboard and lots of little squares of paper pinned under the clasp. We chatted for a moment. That's why I noticed the paper.'

‘Who was it?' Lush demanded.

‘I think . . . yes, it must be. First Officer Prendergast,' Alice-Miranda blurted.

‘Oh, my,' Lush murmured. ‘He came and helped me do stocktake a couple of days ago and at first he was all gushy, bombarding me with loads of questions, but when I asked if he could keep quiet for a while it was as if he turned into another person altogether. It was very peculiar.'

Jacinta stood up. ‘Well, let's see if those eggs are still there.' She opened the door to the adjacent drawing room and promptly screamed.

‘Hello there, young lady,' a voice drifted from the other room. Jacinta shrieked again. A hand reached in and grabbed her, pulling her through the doorway and out of sight.

‘Tie her up and gag her. I can't stand the noise,' the voice instructed.

‘Why are you doing this?' a second voice quivered.

‘Shut up, Henderson, you little do-gooder. First you beg me not to tell the admiral that I found the Royal Standard you'd stolen and hidden in your locker, and now you want to let the snivelling brat go!'

‘But I didn't steal the Standard,' the man protested.

‘Of course you didn't. But how else was I going to get you to do all those special little errands for me. I never realised how attached some people are to their professions.'

‘I didn't mind helping you with the laundry but now you've gone too far. I don't tie up little girls.'

‘Well, you weren't moving laundry either, you imbecile. What did you think was in those sacks? Dirty socks?'

‘How was I to know what you were up to?' the other man sniffed.

‘Well, you weren't to know, were you? But you've been awfully helpful. And I'm sure that you're going to make very tasty fish food. Now get in there and take that snivelling little minx with you.'